A White Christmas?
by Wasduwillst
Summary: Yes, the night would've been perfect— "You bony knee is poking me, you bastard. Move." —If Lovino would just stop complaining for one second.


It was late—one hour til midnight? Two? Gilbert hadn't checked the time since they had curled up together on the couch after a quiet, simple dinner. He was content not to. It was Christmas Eve, the temperature outside had dropped well below freezing, and the night would've been perfect with Lovino snuggled up against his chest, wrapped from behind and covered in the front with the softest blankets they could find in the tiny apartment. The smell of rich hot chocolate wafted out from steaming mugs set on a slim coffee table, mixing pleasantly with the scent of pine from the sparkling tree tucked in the corner of the room—the same tree they had stripped down and spent all of yesterday re-decorating, as Gilbert hadn't felt it was "festive" enough the first time around. Christmas trees were a big fucking deal in Germany, okay?

Yes, the night would've been perfect—

"You bony knee is poking me, you bastard. Move."

—If Lovino would just stop complaining for _one second._

"Really Lovi? You've given me shit for something or another ever since we sat down. What gives?"

The Italian huffed and shifted between Gilbert's legs until he was craning his neck to scowl at his face. "Maybe I wouldn't have to complain if your knees weren't so fucking bony. And if you'd learn how to fucking cuddle properly—I'm cold, goddammit."

"God, you're grumpy tonight," the Prussian muttered, wrapping his arms around Lovino in an embrace that was made a touch too tight from simmering annoyance, "Keep it up and Krampus is gonna come back just for you."

"Krampus?" Lovino scoffed. "What the hell is that? Don't threaten me with your German shit. I'm already spending Christmas in _Berlin_," his face contorted in disgust as he spat out the word, as if it burned to even let the name of the city pass his lips, "so don't push it. I'm even putting up with your brother's crap house, so there."

The image of a petulant child, arms crossed and stamping their foot, flashed in Gilbert's mind. He shook his head and said with a sigh, "First off we're not even at West's place and you know it." True, the apartment was in Ludwig's name, but he only stayed there when he was swamped with work and didn't feel like making the trip from the suburbs to the city and back at odd hours of the night. Gilbert had had to beg and plead, but since Ludwig wasn't using it anyway, eventually the younger German had handed over the keys to the small, surprisingly modern studio apartment. "And second off, he's down in Venice with _your_ brother. Which is the entire reason we decided to spend Christmas here in Germany in the first place, remember?"

"Yeah, whatever. It still—It still smells like that wurst bastard in here. Or something." And—Oh god, Lovino _was_ crossing his arms like an angry child.

That was it. That was all Gilbert could take. "Krampus is definitely coming to take you away, just like all the other naughty kids. He's gonna come back from hell just to get _you_."

Lovino narrowed his eyes at him, confused and obviously not amused with Gilbert's threats, but it only served to egg the Prussian on further.

"Do you know who Krampus _is_, Lovino?"

"No. And I don't fucking care—"

"_Krampus_," Gilbert cut him off, slipping out from behind him and pressing one pale finger to the other's pursed lips, "is one of Saint Nicholas' familiars. And he's mean, Schätzchen. Real mean."

Lovino's eyes widened and Gilbert's smirk followed. He dropped his voice low, a soft rumble to match a cautionary tale. "He comes on the eve before Saint Nicholas, silently creeps into all the kids' houses, looking for all the ones that have misbehaved. Maybe they talked back one too many times. Maybe they never ate their vegetables. Maybe they were pissy and rude and threw fits all the time and never showed their boyfriends any respect," he winked at Lovino, "Whatever it is they did, they were _bad_, and _he_ comes to punish them.

"He's this big beast-like demon. Tall, and covered head to toe in pitch black fur—so he can better blend in the dead of night. He lumbers along with one cloven hoof and one bear claw, but don't let it fool you. You can't outrun him. Even with two matching feet. You might get lucky, though: maybe you'll hear the _clink_ _clink_ _clank_ of the chains he carries—the chains he'll _beat_ you with if his birch branches aren't severe enough for your punishment."

"S-seriously, Gilbert, no one's impressed by your stupid scary stories." Nevertheless, Lovino's eyes flickered over to the dark hallway behind Gilbert's shoulder. His body tensed.

"Alright, fine. But don't come running to me when you wake up and he's right there, smiling down at you with his sharp, pointed teeth glistening in the moonlight and his long, slimy tongue hanging down past his chin. Maybe you'll be fixated on his curling horns or his twitching tail, but I doubt you'd have time to appreciate it, because do you know what happens when Krampus finds you, Lovino?" Gilbert's lips curled into a chilling smile.

"After he's beat you, he shoves you into his basket, and he descends back into the pit from whence he came, and then he—" He chuckled and leaned in close, his warm breath caressing the Italian's ear as he spoke, "He eats you. He devours you, soul and all."

"What the fuck kind of Christmas story is that?! Fucking Germans giving their kids fucking nightmares on Christmas!" Lovino shoved away from Gilbert and backed against the wall. Something hard jammed into his back and he yelped and spun around, only to find the unassuming corner of a shelf full of otherwise nondescript photos of the Berlin cityscape.

Gilbert, for his part, was doubled over with laughter on the couch. He knew Lovino was jumpy, but he didn't think it was _that_ scary of a story. …Okay, so maybe he'd laid it on a little thick, but in his defense, it was Christmas and Lovino had spent the majority of the evening being a giant dick.

"And stop laughing at me!"

"C'mon, Schatz, don't be like that. You know I was only kidding!"

"So?! If your idea of a good Christmas is sitting around and scaring the piss out of your boyfriend, then you can—You can just go fuck yourself!" Lovino huffed and stormed out of the living room and down the hall. He didn't bother to pull on his coat before he slammed open the apartment door and rushed outside. The echoes of his last "Asshole!" filled the apartment and settled heavily on the quickly sobering Prussian left guilty on the couch.

"Oh fuck me…

* * *

It was fucking cold. It was fucking _snowing_. Yet the chill of the ice and the bite of the wind did nothing to cool off the fuming Italian.

Lovino shoved his hands in his pockets and continued to pace within the small circle of light thrown down by the solitary street light that stood guard before the building. His breath painted the air in smoky trails of grey. The snowflakes were small but persistent; it seemed every time one melted against his tanned skin, two more would fall. A shiver ran down the length of his spine. He was miserable out here in the cold.

So what if he'd been grumpier than normal? He was nervous, okay? They'd been dating for 4 years now, but this was their first Christmas they were spending alone as a couple. Last year had been their brothers, the year before that Gilbert's "family" and the year before that had been Lovino's. So far the entire week had been perfect and it was—It was too fucking much.

What if his gift wasn't good enough? Or what if they got into one of their stupid petty arguments and Lovino was hardheaded and stubborn and they didn't make up in time for Christmas? Or if he fucked up the cooking somehow? That was his one job! What if his chorea acted up—it still happened sometimes when he was stressed out, dammit—and he dropped a plate or knocked down a decoration and then all of Gilbert's hard work would be _ruined_ and he'd be so _upset_ and it'd be all his fault!

All his worries and insecurities had been stewing for days now. He'd reached the point where he started to blindly lash out, and though he felt like shit about it, he couldn't just stop himself. No, it was never that easy. And then that bastard had had to go and tell him that creepy ass story about the hell demon that was going to _kill_ him for it. A demon that came in the dark of the night, snatched you up without warning… I-it probably waited until you were all alone too, and til you were incapacitated because it was so fucking cold in Germany. And it was late, which meant by the time someone heard him scream, he'd already be stuffed in its bag or basket or whatever and be on his way to—

"Oh wow, it's snowing!"

A heavy hand fell on Lovino's shoulder. It squeezed and Lovino shrieked. "YOU'RE NOT TAKING ME TO HELL, YOU FUCKING MONSTER."

"Lovino, wait—!"

The Italian rammed his elbow back into his assailant's stomach. When they fell back, he turned with as close to a battle cry and his fear tightened throat could muster and kicked straight up with all his might. A cry even higher than Lovino's frightened screech rang out. The intruder's hands flew to his crotch and he fell to his knees, still howling in pain.

"I came out here to apologize and you kicked me in the balls! _Why_!?"

"Gilbert!?" Lovino was shocked. He blinked back the last of his panic and looked down. Indeed, it was only his boyfriend, not a child-eating hellion, at his feet. "Gil!" He dropped to his knees beside him, grabbing onto his forearm with both hands. "Why the hell did you sneak up on me!? Oh god, are you alright?"

Gilbert hissed an inhale before answering, "You kicked me in the balls. You fucking kicked me in the balls, why did you kick me in the balls."

Concern was tempered with irritation and Lovino pinched at his coat, hoping it made it through to that thick skin of his. "What did you think I would do after you told me that damn story earlier? I was gonna come back inside in a minute anyway, you idiot."

"No you weren't."

"…Alright, maybe not in a minute, but I would've eventually. It's fucking cold out here."

"I know. You ran off without your coat. I was being a valiant lover and bringing it to you." Gilbert gestured to the dark green jacket that lay crumpled on the ground beside him, half covered in upturned snow.

Lovino breathed a sigh of relief. If Gilbert was making cocky jokes, he couldn't be hurting _too_ badly anymore. "You still didn't have to be an idiot about it," he chastised, reaching across Gilbert's body and fishing his coat from the bank of snow. He shook it off once, twice, and then hastily pulled it on, eager to bring some semblance of warmth back to his frozen limbs. Soon a pair of arms wrapped around his trembling body and a sturdy body pressed to his side, offering its heat as well.

The pair sat in silence in the snow, bathed in the dim yellow light of lamp above them. The snow swirled down around them, dusting them in a frosty white before melting from the slowly warming skin. Whatever needed to be said between them seemed to have been said in the way the fog of their breaths mixed in the crisp, frozen air, in the way that their fingers reached out for each other's and gently, cautiously intertwined.

It was Gilbert that spoke first.

"Check your front pocket."

Lovino's brows drew in confusion, but he dutifully reached down into his left pocket. Searching fingers met with only soft lining and he turned his puzzled look to the grinning man at his side. "There's nothing there."

"Your other pocket."

Sighing, Lovino took his hand from the Prussian's and plunged it where he had been instructed. This time, he found something smooth, palm sized. He clutched it tight and pulled it from the depths of his coat. He glanced at Gilbert, but the other only gave him an excited nod, so Lovino looked down and opened his fist.

"What the…" In his hand sat a little wooden charm, painstakingly hand carved from the looks of it. The bottom was what he could only assume was a tomato, and perched on top of it was Gilbert's bird. He was holding two flags, one for each wing. The right was blocked off into three vertical sections, the Italian flag, obviously, which meant the other could've only been the old Prussian flag, since it obviously wasn't Germany's. A thin fabric loop hung from the top of the bird's head, presumably so he could hook it on his phone or his keys.

It was amazingly detailed, especially for something so tiny. Lovino wondered how long Gilbert had spent making it, if he had had to get help, how many times he'd had to start over to get it perfect. "It's beautiful…" he breathed.

"It's cherry wood." A note of pride quivered in Gilbert's voice. He snaked his arm around Lovino's shoulder and drew him near. "It's pretty cool, isn't it? Of course, if you think it's lame or something, it's whatever, I got you something else in case—"

"Shut up." Lovino turned and jabbed him in the chest. "It's beautiful and I love it and if you try and fucking take it back, I'm making you walk back to Rome."

The delighted grin that spread across the Prussian's face made Lovino's heart ache. "Really? You like it?"

"I love it. Now take me back inside before my lips freeze off so I can thank you properly."

"A proper thanks? What are we still doing out here, then?" Gilbert stood and swung Lovino into his arms, bright laughter echoing down the sleeping street. He bumped his forehead against Lovino's and closed his eyes, exhaling a happy sigh. "Merry Christmas, Lovi."

"Merry fucking Christmas, Gil."


End file.
